Beautiful Secret (Beautiful Bastard 4)

“Ruby?”

I looked up at his face. “Hmm?”

“Thank—”

I reached for his lips, my heart drooping. “Don’t.”

“Don’t say thank you?” he asked from behind my fingers.

“No.”

Niall looked momentarily at a loss, before reaching up and gently pulling away my hand. “But it was astounding.”

“For me, too.”

His gaze flickered back and forth between my eyes. “Truly?”

“When you want someone as much as I want you, giving pleasure is almost better than getting it.”

He fell silent; his thumb coming up to stroke a bottom lip that I’m sure no longer had a hint of lipstick remaining.

“Am I a mess?” I asked.

“Mmm,” he hummed, bending and kissing me once. “Quite. I rather like it.”

He returned, kissing me deeper, lips parting and sucking, and, finally, tongue sliding along mine.

When he pulled back, he watched where his index finger drew small circles at the hollow of my throat.

“I’m still a bit amazed at the . . .” he began, and then shook his head a little before pressing his lips together.

“Intensity?” I asked.

“Yes. The intensity. But then I’m never sure . . .”

I waited for him to finish, but he simply nodded and said a quiet “Well.”

I suddenly knew what Max meant about chipping away at the outside. It wasn’t about seducing Niall in the first place. It was about keeping him from turning back inward immediately afterward.

“Let me go clean up.” I stretched, kissing his cheek and then turning for the door. Opening it, I took a peek in the hallway before making a dash to the restroom.

Inside, I stared at my reflection: at the swollen pink mouth, the hint of red in a halo all around it, the mascara blurred from my watery eyes while I sucked him.

I didn’t really need Niall to finish that thought. I knew what he would say even if he didn’t know it himself: I’m a bit amazed at the intensity . . . But then I’m never sure what to do with you afterward.

If Niall was as distracted as I was that afternoon, he didn’t show it. His attention barely wandered from the speaker as she unveiled one plan after another. He took meticulous notes, and barely spared a glance in my direction. I could still remember the shape of him against my lips, could hear the choppy, gasping breath he took just before he came. But I could not believe I’d done that in our office. My recklessness was escalating.

I’d be damned if I ever apologized for wanting something sexual, but I didn’t want to let it make me irresponsible.

Still . . . after this morning, then the blow job, then his retreat back into his own thoughts, I felt insecure. And I hated feeling insecure.

Beneath the table, I slid my foot closer until it touched his. Startling, he looked over at me and I could see in his expression when he understood that I need to know that what I did was okay with you.

And in the same way my kisses were hidden under his expensive clothes, his ankle wrapped around mine beneath the table. A secret only the two of us shared.

I’d never considered how many nerves might exist in the human foot before, but for the next two hours I grew aware of every single one. I noticed every shift of his leg and every brush of fabric. I could feel the heat of his body so close and yet I couldn’t do anything. It was maddening. When he stood to take the floor himself, my eyes bore into the places I knew were marked with red. I kept my face impassive, but inside, I burned.

Being back in the States didn’t mean my responsibilities back in England had lessened. In the time I wasn’t with Niall, I had to put in extra hours. My coursework was finished, but if I hoped to get into Professor Sheffield’s program in the fall, I had some catching up to do. Nothing could suffer at this stage, which was exactly why, at the end of the day, I decided to opt out of a group dinner that night, even if it would have meant time with Niall.

As the global lead on the team, Niall couldn’t back out. So, with a small, apologetic glance in my direction, he told everyone he would meet them in a half hour at the restaurant.

I moved to the elevator and shivered a little when he came in behind me. We’d been able to spend nearly every second together the past couple of weeks but would be apart tonight. I felt a little petulant in my unwillingness to share.

“All right?” he asked quietly as a few other people came in after us.

“I’m good.” I smiled at him over my shoulder. “Just need to be an adult for a few hours and feeling bratty about it.”

He couldn’t exactly kiss me or do anything even mildly physically reassuring. It was just that everything still felt so precarious. Our relationship was starting to feel like a towering house of cards, and in a way I understood why he was inclined to take the physical side of things slowly: there was no established us yet. No moments where I felt like, wow, this guy is totally my boyfriend.